Lee is being “annoying”, guys.
Have you noticed it?
You may not have, if you’ve been watching the shows on mute. See, without my father constantly using the word “annoying” over and over, what you’d assume that you were seeing on television was the same old shit that has happened nearly every single week since the Final Alliance started. We’re literally just stuck in the same fucking loop. He’s essentially turned his entire stable into a bunch of goons doing his bidding, and if you replace my name with Evan Ward, Clay Byrd, Rhys Townsend, Jace Parker Davidson… look, the list can go on… then you’ll assume that you’re catching a rerun.
I’m no longer annoyed.
I’m officially underwhelmed.
A tag team title shot against the PWA Tag Team Champions, and I’m paired with Zach Kostoff. Cool. Doesn’t he have about the same winning percentage as his dad? Don’t be fooled by the glitz and glamour of “a Best and a Kostoff” teaming together, this is just another soft turd being squeezed out into a main event, meant to convince me to put on a stupid jacket. See, because once I’m wearing the jacket, I can wrestle in these same shitty tag matches against the NEXT guy, but be on the winning side.
Lee Best is out of touch.
If I didn’t know better, I’d assume that Dan was the one booking the shows these days— the cards are so copy and paste that I’m waiting for Lee to get a copyright strike from himself. We used to brag that everyone was just a HOW clone, stealing our shit and doing a worse version of it… but lately, it’s starting to feel like we’re a fucking clone of ourselves. What even happened? Is it time to just shut the doors if we can’t do this at the highest level anymore? Is this ICONIC the fucking end? Because I’ll be honest, man, I’m trying so hard to love this, but it just feels… empty. Like we’re going through the motions. Maybe I’m starting to sound like a broken record here, but hey, I guess that’s one of those “like father, like son” things.
But the machine rolls on, yeah?
Fucking Xerox machine.
And hey, let’s just address the elephant in the room. Zach Kostoff, I’m not gonna gas you up and put you over. You’re a hard J jabrone. You inherited all of your father’s talent, but like… the talent he had right before he died, not the talent he had when he was actually worth a fuck. And you’ve inherited exactly zero of the respect I had for your father, so I’m not going to pretend that you’re the monster in anyone’s closet, either. You’re greener than Kermit the Frog’s butthole and twice as likely to have someone’s fist jammed into it. I would literally fare better in a handicap match than dragging you through this nearly unwinnable match, so the idea that this is a title match is fucking hilarious. This is going to count as a title defense— it’s going to go into the record books as a time the Final Alliance successfully retained their titles against the HOW World Champion.
I know, I know.
It’s “Booking 101”.
Well, maybe it’s time for Lee Best to graduate from introductory booking classes, then. I wouldn’t go to a doctor who only utilized medical knowledge from his 101 courses. I wouldn’t get my hair cut by a stylist who only did their intro courses at “single mom” school. So why the fuck are we all supposed to sit back and applaud when my dad jerks off all over a booking sheet and then says “KISS” like that forgives the absolute laziness of all this? It buries EVERYONE, and it entertains NO ONE but my father. You’ve got your World Champion taking an L on every single show, because some other goober gets pinned. Bad for business. Bad for houses. You’ve got your two number one contenders winning matches that no one cares about and mean nothing, because there’s the big fat asterisk of “oh, this match was booked as a punishment, not to be competitive”. Bad for business. Bad for houses. You’re giving away slices of ICONIC every single week by even having me, Dan, and Jatt in the same fucking zip code. Bad for business. Bad for houses. And the worst part?
You’re giving Zach Kostoff main events.
Is the roster that thin?
Do we not have anyone in catering who can take off their apron and tag with me instead? At least Chris was a Hall of Famer. A living legend. His kid just looks like Clay Byrd with AIDS and has a TWO AND TEN RECORD. Two and ten. Even the fucking BEARS have four wins this year, are you kidding me with this shit? Is this some act of poetic revenge? I cut the head off his dad, so now he’s gonna cut the legs out from underneath me? I’m halfway sorry for the blatant disrespect, Little Kostoff, but you ain’t your Daddy. He and I had wars. He and I had BATTLES. We took eachother to the brink and back, but you aren’t him. From one pro wrestling nepo baby to another, I’ll give you some free advice– it’s gonna take you YEARS to get the stink of being “Kostoff’s kid” off of you. You’re gonna have to claw and scrape to make a name for yourself. It’s gonna be fucking hard. And right now, you’re about as useful to me as male fucking nipples, so like I said, I’d have a better shot at making this competitive in a fucking handicap match. But fine, Baby Kostoff, I’ll drag you along to your inevitable pinfall loss, and then take my weekly beatdown from Lee’s crew of cronies.
Maybe I won’t.
Maybe I have the same opportunity to do the single funniest thing ever done in the history of your stupid red jacket club. Maybe I can, whilst dragging Lil’ Kostoff across the ring from my ankle like a big, dumb ball and chain, I can single handedly capture the Tag Team Championships from the two guys I’m supposed to wrestle at ICONIC. Would that annoy you, Lee? Would that be annoying? If I were to spend the next couple of days teaching Miniature Kostoff how to protect a fucking pinfall, just so I could smash the ever loving shit out of Jatt Starr one more time and tag both of those belts?
Yeah, that would probably annoy you.
But it would also pop a rating.
So maybe I’ll just no show.
Never even give you the satisfaction. Let my music play, and meanwhile I’m headed back to the hotel in a fucking rental. Leave young Zach to wrestle a handicap match against your goons, whilst the target demo changes the channel entirely. You think anyone wants to watch neutered Dan and pocket holding Jatt wrestling Zach Kostoff? I’m the fucking draw, Lee. I’m always the fucking draw. People love me. People fucking despise me. Doesn’t matter how they feel, the fact is that they tune in. And you’ve got an entire stable full of killers who can draw ratings, but they’re all on such a short leash that they’ve stopped being fun to watch.
Remember when you were Must See TV?
Back in the Group of Death days, when there wasn’t a bald dork pointing at enemies and treating you like a generic henchman? Cause Pepperidge Farm remembers. Jatt has spent the best years of his career as Lee Best’s personal lapdog, but you? You were top dog. Anything but a bitch in a suit. The fuck happened? Did it really cost you both of your balls to get back into the ring. I love you, man, you’re one of my best friends, but I don’t respect you literally at all right now. The Industry was better than this, and that is literally a stable that contained a nineteen year old girl. It’s all love. It always has been. But I’m not even afraid of this version of you, Dan, and if we’re being real honest? I’m undefeated against the version of you I was afraid of.
And then there’s Jatt.
Hey, we’re not holding anything back in the Annoyance Era, right? I’m gonna be honest with you, Lee, I have never seen the value in Jatt Starr as a draw. Not once. The guy has always been a tremendous wrestler, I’m not gonna pretend otherwise, but holy FUCK is this the corniest dude on the planet. Jatt Starr in 2023 couldn’t draw a crowd if you gave him tracing paper and a photo of a fucking crowd. The stupid nicknames have never been funny. The word play has NEVER been funny. I regret so many terrible things that I’ve done over the course of my career, but when it comes to stabbing Bethany Sparrow in the fucking face, I only regret that I can’t go back and do it seven more times. As far as I’m concerned, ICONIC isn’t his retirement present… it’s insurance for you, so that he can take a pin and keep Dan Ryan looking strong when I retain.
Fuck this tag team match.
Fuck this entire match build.
Fuck the Final Alliance, too, I’ll just say it. I’m over it. What a fucking waste of some of the most talented dudes in the business and Jatt Starr. So who even knows. Maybe I’ll make a real run at those titles, even if I have to do it myself. Maybe I won’t show up at all. Or fuck, maybe I’ll tap a few more of my sVo guys this week, and they can show up in gold jackets and we can do this Jets vs Sharks style. I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. All I know is that something’s gotta give. My potentially final run with the HOW World Championship needs to mean something, and I will do whatever the fuck I have to do to accomplish that. It means not taking the easy way out. It means not putting on the jacket. It means figuring out a way to get past the most Jacksonville booking I’ve ever seen in my fourteen years in HOW.
I’m sure as shit gonna try.
Despite you, Lee Best.
Despite your jackets. Despite your inability to evolve. Despite the fact that you’re still booking shit like it’s 2013. Because you know what? This is at least partly my fault. For convincing you to bring this all back in the first place. For not holding up my half of the 50% deal. For fucking off with OCW and sending Tyler to PRIME and sitting on my couch in my sweatpants. I left you to manage this all on your own, and it’s my fault that you’re out of shit. It’s my fault that you’re on cruise control. It’s my fault and you’re doing the only thing you know how to do anymore, which is book a bunch of repetitive edgelord shit and call anyone who doesn’t lick your balls over it “soft”.
But it’s you, Lee.
You’re the softest motherfucker on the planet.
You’re the promoter who made everyone uncomfortable with Nigel Lette and said fuck em if they can’t take a joke, but banned references COVID, suicide, and autism from HOW because THOSE things impact your life. Well guess what motherfucker? I’m on the spectrum. I got diagnosed months ago. I’m a fucking potato. A bozo. I am poor at reading the room. I am bad with social cues. I HAVE SENSORY ISSUES. If I go two years without eating a Big Mac but then have a sudden hankering for one, the odds are fucking great that I’m gonna eat one a day for the next goddamned month, and I think dinosaurs are rad as fuck. So let me go ahead and make the joke I’ve been sitting on for THREE YEARS, because it’s a banger, and I want to see if it gets me fired now that I have a legally protected disability:
HEY ZION, AUTISM SPEAKS, BUT SOMETIMES I WISH IT WOULDN’T.
Fire me. I dare you.
Fucking fire me for that.
I’m done, Lee.
Not with HOW. Not with you. We aren’t in a feud. But I’m done tiptoeing with you. I’m done being the middleman because you have the social skills of a venereal disease and don’t know how to interact with people like a normal human being. There are no more kid gloves, because you are going to learn how to take it as well as you dish it out. I will destroy a fucking World Title every single week if I want to. If I win those PWA Tag Team Titles, I’ll officially disband them from the fucking PWA, rename them, and defend them in chicken wing eating contests in rural fucking Kentucky. I am going to pull you into fucking 2023 kicking and screaming if I have to, so I’ll see you next week with another shitty tag team match featuring two guys who could be World Champion on their own, but have grown content suckling from your teat.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Can’t wait till you see what I got you.